Faramir's Journey
by Valgoruth
Summary: When Osgiliath is retaken, Denethor must choose which son to send on a special errand, but an unfortunate accident occurs with his first choice. CHAPTER 5 UP!
1. Remember Today

**Disclaimer:** I own neither the characters nor the stories of the great J. R. R. Tolkien. The epic tale of adventure and all of its properties are his and his alone. I have searched for this story or a similar one online and have not found it, which surprises me. If this story does exist in another form, I am deeply sorry for missing it; however, I did not plagiarize. All similarities, if any, are complete coincidence. This is a question which I have asked myself many times; it has also been posed by David Wenham, the actor who played Faramir. What would happen if Faramir had gone in Boromir's stead? The prologue is taken almost entirely from Peter Jackson's _The Two Towers: Extended Edition_. This is a very moving scene between Boromir and his brother, and I have quoted it almost exactly, adding or changing some parts to fit the story. However, I hope this will be a new look into the endless tale by one of the greatest authors ever. All hail J. R. R. Tolkien!

**A/N:** Now arises the entire reason I began this journey into the land of Fan Fiction. A tale of joy, of sorrow, of love, of death: retold. Here begins

_Faramir's Journey_

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Prologue: The Retaking of Osgiliath

"_Boromir!_" The men chanted, "_Boromir!_"

Boromir looked over the city with pride in his heart. He placed the white flag of Gondor in a hole at the top of the ruined citadel and turned, clutching his newly wounded arm. He grimaced, then removed anew his sword from its sheath. The blade glimmered red in the rising sun.

"This city," Boromir began, "was once the jewel of our kingdom, a place of light and beauty and music. And so it shall be once more!"

The crowds resounded with another cheer of victory.

"Let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the land of _my_ people fall into enemy hands!"

A cry of defiance shook the newly acquired city.

"This city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed: for Gondor!" shouted the captain.

"_For Gondor!_" The crowd shouted back.

"For Gondor!"

"_For Gondor!_"

"For Gondor!"

-----

Faramir wound his way through the throngs of soldiers congregating in the narrow streets of the city. Finally he reached his brother and gave him a hug.

"Good speech. Nice and short," Faramir joked.

"Leaves more time for drinking!" laughed Boromir. "Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!"

"You're hurt, Brother."

"It's only an arm. I've got two," replied Boromir.

"Always making the best of a situation, Boromir," laughed his brother as a soldier handed them each a goblet of ale.

"Remember today, Little Brother," said Boromir. "Today, life is good."

"I'll drink to that," Faramir replied with a twinkle in his eye. The twinkle soon faded when he chanced to look to his left.

Boromir chuckled. "What?"

"He's here."

Immediately Boromir's smile faded from his face.

"Darn well." A man in an elegant fur robe was talking to one of the soldiers.

"Oh, one moment of peace, can he not give us that?" questioned the elder.

Denethor approached. "Where is he? Where is Gondor's finest? Where's my first-born?"

Boromir faked a well-practiced smile. "Father!" He walked slowly to the steward and embraced him while Faramir looked on.

"You're hurt!" exclaimed the steward.

"I'm fine," said Boromir.

"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handedly!"

"They exaggerate," replied Boromir. He pointed to his brother. "The victory belongs to Faramir also."

As Faramir approached his father, the steward's voice turned to ice. "But for Faramir, this city would still be standing. Were you not entrusted to protect it?" Denethor asked pointedly of Faramir.

"I would have done, but our numbers were too few," the younger replied the same thing he had said every time his father asked him the same question.

"Oh, too few." Boromir hung his head as Denethor started scolding his brother again. "You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim!"

Faramir gazed dejectedly at his father as he continued his quiet rant. "Always you cast a poor reflection on me."

Faramir shook his head. "That was not my intent."

Boromir whispered in his father's ear while walking away. "You give him no credit, and yet he tries to do your will."

Denethor stopped for a moment, then turned to follow his eldest son.

"He loves you, Father!" cried Boromir.

"Do not trouble me with Faramir; I know his uses and they are few. We have more urgent things to speak of. Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He will not say why, but I have guessed its purpose. It is rumored that the weapon of the enemy has been found."

Boromir stared. "The One Ring? Isildur's Bane?" He glanced warily at his father.

Denethor's eyes took on an unearthly light. "It has fallen into the hands of the Elves. Everyone will try to claim it: Men, Dwarves, Wizards. We cannot let that happen. This thing _must_ come to Gondor!"

Boromir looked at his father in fear. "Gondor…."

"It's dangerous, I know! Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser Men. But you! You are strong, and our need is great. It is _our_ blood that is being spilled, _our _people who are dying. Sauron is biding his time; he's massing fresh armies. He will return, and when he does, we will be powerless to stop him! You must go! Bring me back this mighty gift."

"No, Father. My place now is with my people. I cannot ride in this condition. I cannot go to Rivendell!" Boromir cried as he turned back towards Faramir.

"Would you deny your own Father?!" shouted Denethor in a rage.

Faramir turned to face his father. "If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead."

"You?" Denethor considered his options. _If Boromir is hurt…lesser men…dangerous…._ "Oh, I see, a chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to show his quality. Normally, I would trust this mission only to your brother, the one who will not fail me."

Faramir hung his head.

"But," continued the steward, "I have no choice in the matter. My son is wounded and the meeting is soon. YOU shall ride to Rivendell by way of Edoras in his stead."

-----

Boromir looked up at his brother as Faramir mounted the Gondorian steed. "Remember today, Little Brother," he said as Faramir turned away and rode into the West. "Remember today."

-----

**A/N:** Once again, this story is almost quoted from a scene in _The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Extended Edition_. I realize this; do not send me flames about that. However, I would enjoy some reviews. If you give me ideas, you might see them used later on. Don't worry; I won't quote the movie the entire way. I will integrate both the books and the movie as I go along, using whichever suits the story best. Thank you ahead of time for reviewing. Oh, did I mention this: Please Review!!! Thanks.

--Valgorúth


	2. A Shadow and a Threat

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or its characters, nor do I wish any monetary compensation for my works. I do what I do because of my profound respect for one of the greatest British authors of all time, J. R. R. Tolkien. This said, I have quoted some lines directly from either the books or the movies. Anything you recognize is not mine. Once again, as I have not seen this story or any like it on the internet, I am sorry for any unplanned similarities. All hail J. R. R. Tolkien!

**A/N**: This story has been written using both the movies and the books. Although they are both a portion of the same world, they differ greatly at times. I will try to remain true to Tolkien (or at least as true as an A/U author can be), and I apologize ahead of time if I may mischaracterize anybody from either the films or the book.

-----

The trees passed lazily. None of the travelers seemed to be in a great hurry, although their mission was urgent. They had already lost one of their companions when they took a detour through the mines. After being chased by orcs for the rest of the day, they found themselves in the forest of Lothlórien at nightfall. It was there that they had been given these boats, as well as many other strange and wonderful gifts. Being a Ranger, Faramir knew how to travel through woods silently and with speed, but it was Aragorn's choice to travel on the water. Faramir now trusted this man with his life. It would seem to be a good thing, for his life was now resting in the hands of this Dúnedain.

Time flows slowly on a river. The night sky overhead was too quiet to do anything but stand still, while the trees on either side silently pulled away from the trio of boats. Faramir knew that this quiet peace would not last long. In another few days they would have to get out of the boats and carry them around Sarn Gebir, one of the most dangerous stretches of rapids on the entire Anduin River. It was the eighth night of travel, and Merry had been given the task of watchman in Faramir's boat. Suddenly, they heard a cry from Sam, the watchman in the lead boat. Faramir looked ahead only to see the beginnings of the Rapids.

As Aragorn tried to slow his boat, Faramir called out, "Aragorn, we cannot dare the Rapids, not in the dark of night! But no boat can survive Sarn Gebir, be it night or day!"

"Back, back!" cried Aragorn. "Turn if you can!"

The three boats slowly turned against the rushing water. The current dragged them on towards the dangerous shore on the eastern side. Faramir shouted to Merry and Pippin, who was sleeping. "All together, paddle! Pull, or we shall be driven upon the shoals!"

Suddenly, they heard the twang of bowstrings in the air. Faramir looked at Legolas, but he didn't even have the great Galadhrim bow out. The expression on his Elven face was of fear. "_Yrch!"_ he cried.

"Orcs!" echoed Gimli.

Finally, after some time straining against the current and hoping the arrows would stay out of the boats, they reached a spot on the western bank to hide from the orcs' arrows. Legolas leapt from his boat, pulled out his Galadhrim bow, fitted his arrow on the string, and neatly landed facing the incoming barrage from the orcs. Suddenly, Faramir was filled with a fear such as he had felt only once before in his life.

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel!_" Legolas sighed as he turned to stare up into the night sky. The stars grew dim, then went out. Frodo grabbed his shoulder in pain and crouched upon the ground as if to hide from this unseen enemy.

_Twang_. The Elvish bow sang as it launched its dart into the sky. A high-pitched scream filled the night, followed by cries from the orcs in the Black Speech. No more arrows were shot that night.

"Praised be the bow of Galadriel, and the hand and eye of Legolas!" cried Gimli. "That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend!"

"But who can say what it hit?" replied the Elf.

"It reminded me of the terror I felt in Osgiliath when it was first conquered," answered Faramir. "One day, a black horse crossed the bridges. Its rider was hooded and cloaked, clothed all in black robes. The terror was complete."

"Too much it reminded me of the shadow in Moria – the shadow of the Balrog," whispered Gimli.

Frodo shivered, somehow affected still by the shadow in the sky. "It was not a Balrog," he said. "It was something colder. I think it was—" Frodo fell silent.

"What did you think it was, Master Hobbit?" asked Faramir.

"I think I shall not say. Whatever it was, its fall has dismayed our enemies."

"So it seems," replied Aragorn, still peering into the night.

-----

"The day has come at last." Aragorn glanced at the island of Tol Brandir in the middle of the great River. "It is the day of choice which we have long delayed."

There was silence from everyone. Frodo too glanced uneasily towards the East, wherein lies Mount Doom. Legolas glanced back to the West.

"Shall we turn West towards Gondor, towards a haven and shelter? or shall we continue into the East towards Fear and Shadow? Perchance we must break up; some go West to ask Gondor for aid, while the Ring continues on toward the East. Whatever we do must be done soon. I fear there are orcs already on this side of the water."

There was a deep silence. Legolas continued to peer at Amon Hen. _A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind_.

Aragorn spoke up after the long silence. "Well, Frodo, I fear the burden is laid on you. In this matter I cannot advise you. I am not Gandalf, and although I have tried to bear his part, I do not know if even he would have counsel for this hour. Such seems to be your fate: to always choose the paths."

"I know haste is needed," replied Frodo softly, "yet I cannot choose. If you leave me alone for an hour, I will speak."

"Very well, Frodo son of Drogo. You shall have your hour." Aragorn pitied the small Hobbit who carried the fate of the world around his neck.

Faramir watched Frodo wander off. He heard Sam muttering to himself, but thought little of it. Sam seemed to be muttering an awful lot lately. The Ring called to him. He knew the awful power it contained. He knew how destructive it could be. He knew that the Enemy would never stand up to the Power of Faramir, Lord of—No. It must not happen. And yet…

"He is debating which course seems most desperate," said Aragorn. "Which would any of _us_ choose, were we in Frodo's stead? I do not know."

"Why can we not help him out?" Legolas spoke up. "Let us call him back and have a vote. I should vote for Minas Tirith."

"As would I," said Gimli. "However, if Frodo chose the dangerous path to Mordor, I would follow him even to the foot of Barad-dûr itself!"

"I too would go with him," replied the Elf. "It would be faithless now to say farewell."

"I would wish to go to Minas Tirith," said Faramir, "but I cannot leave this young Hobbit. It would be almost a betrayal."

"Indeed it would be if we all should leave him," replied Aragorn. "However, we do not all need to follow him to Mount Doom, if he so chooses."

"Begging your pardon," interrupted Samwise, "but Mr. Frodo isn't hesitating about which way to go at all. He knows he's got to find them Cracks of Doom, if he can. But he's _afraid_. He's just plain terrified. And he isn't wondering if we'll go with him or no, if you follow me. If he screws himself up to go, he'll want to go alone. Mark my words! We're going to have trouble with him when he gets back, sure as his name's Baggins."

"Well, I wish Frodo would 'screw himself up' and come back," said Pippin. "The waiting is—"

An odd cry drowned out the rest of his words. Legolas sprang to his feet, eyes wild with fear. "Aragorn! _Nad no ennas_!"

Aragorn replied, "_Man cenich_?"

"You do not know either?"

Merry and Pippin looked at each other in fear. "We must try and find him," said Merry. "Come on!" shouted Pippin. The two raced off into the woods, while Legolas and Gimli ran in another direction.

"Wait a moment!" cried Aragorn. "We must be arranged – here, hold! Wait!" Aragorn sighed and ran after the two Hobbits, calling back, "Sam and Faramir, stay here in case Frodo returns!"

-----

**A/N:** Yes, I did quote from the book. Anything directly quoted from the book was in _The Fellowship of the Ring_, Book II, Chapters Nine and Ten. Thank you, reviewers, to whom I cannot respond anymore, by order of . Sadly. However, I will write you an e-mail in response if you leave an address. Please review, and thank-you for reading! A special thank-you to my beta, Dally. May your muses always give you the words to write, as long as you don't spend three weeks in replying to my story!


	3. The Battle of Amon Hen

**Disclaimer: **Alack! These characters exist not within my power or legal authority, but rather within the grasp of the Tolkien family. Far be it from me to steal such a beautiful and wondrous piece of art from so noble a name!

**A/N: **I have been told I've been quoting too much from the original story (which is definitely true). So, I'm turning over a new leaf. Actually, this _was_ part of the plan: get some background using the book, and then begin writing for real. And now, I introduce you to the true beginning of Faramir's Journey:

_**The Battle of Amon-Hen**_

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"Sam and Faramir, wait here in case Frodo returns!" Aragorn dashed off into the woods in the direction of the sound. As he got closer, he recognized the gruesome sounds of the orcs, but they had an odd tonal quality. The voices weren't in the deep guttural Black Speech of the Mordor orcs, but a mixture of Common Speech and Rohirric. Somehow, they were still orc-ish in nature, resounding of curses and disrespect for all living things. The smashing of the armored feet echoed through the vale as Aragorn rushed up the sloping sides of Amon Hen. He had completely lost sight of the two little hobbits.

"Frodo! Where are you?"

-----

_Running away…. Dark shapes flying through the woods…. The Ring burning on my finger…._

Frodo's thoughts were jumbled as he ran away from danger towards greater danger. The Ring burned on his finger, the only point of true light that he could see. The Shadow-world was difficult to see in, but it enhanced his other senses. He could hear and understand what the orcs were calling out: "Find the Halfling! Kill the others! We are the Uruk-hai! Nothing shall stand in our way! Find the Halfling!"

_Run away as fast as you can…. Run! Never let them find you!_

-----

"Gimli, I believe we are approaching the main company!" Legolas shouted back to the dwarf over his shoulder.

"What _are_ these foul creatures?" snarled Gimli.

"They are some type of orc… they call themselves the Uruk-hai."

"Uruk-hai? Aren't they the high orcs in Mordor?"

"Yes, my friend, but these are from elsewhere…. They sound almost Rohirric."

"As in from the land of the Horse-Lords? I don't doubt that for a second! Rohan and their beasts! They treat those horses like royalty!"

"Albeit, they _are_ allies of Gondor, and therefore, our friends. No, these Uruks aren't from Rohan, but from somewhere near there. Shh, my friend, and maybe we will have the surprising edge of the dagger."

-----

"Mr. Faramir, Sir? I think they're getting closer." Sam's voice wavered, though he tried to sound brave.

"Shh, Sam. We're no match for an enemy of any size. We must stay here until Frodo comes, if you're correct in your guess," Faramir replied kindly.

"I'm correct, Sir. It's plain as the nose on a Boffin as my old Gaffer would say. He'll come back. You'll see."

"Hush now; some orcs are coming this way," warned the Ranger. "Hide here with me." Faramir slid behind one of the Elven boats, throwing his cloak over his head to hide him. He wished he hadn't left his bow by the old tree stump in the clearing.

-----

Aragorn could just see the front line of the Uruk-hai. They were about his size, larger than most men, and even stockier. Their skin was black like an orc's; their limbs were long and ugly. Aragorn had heard rumors of a new enemy, a type of orc that could run in the day, but until now, he never really believed it. He heard their tongues wag with their own praise: "We are the Uruk-hai! Kill the others! Find the Halfling!"

The son of kings drew his sword slowly, whispering, "_Ai, Elenion Ancalima!_ Hear me now! Grant us our impossible victory!"

-----

"Merry! I think we're in trouble!" Pippin looked over his shoulder at his cousin.

"Why do you say that, Pip?" Merry looked calm in the light that streamed through the trees.

"I don't know where we are!"

"Just go in the opposite direction from the bad guys, Pip, and we'll be fine!" Suddenly, the sound of the orcs grew louder. The formerly distant cries were now advancing right towards them. That wasn't the alarming part, though.

-----

"_Elendil!_" cried Aragorn as he raced towards his foe. Not afraid of death, he blessed the re-forged sword on his brow, repeating his prayer. The Uruk-hai were surprised. One, two, three Uruks fell under the Sword of Kings. Andúril shone like fire, tasting the black blood of orcs yet again. The Uruk-hai fled with the Terror of the West at their backs, cutting them down one by one.

-----

"_Khazad-dûm!_" Gimli raced towards the orcs, battle-axe swinging high and low. "_Balin and Durin!_ Lords of Moria, grant thy revenge! Kings under the Mountain, refresh my bones! _Death to the Uruk-hai!_" The orcs fell left and right, relieved of their ugly heads.

_Twang_ sang the bow of the Elven Prince. Once again, his bow and his arrows, the gifts of Galadriel, blurred together with the speed only an Elven archer can muster. Each arrow found its mark. The arrows of the elf and the axe of the dwarf were enough to send the motley crew of Uruk-hai running back up the hill.

-----

Pippin watched helplessly as the Uruks came closer. He and Merry were hiding under their cloaks, but even orcs will notice if they step on a body instead of a rock. Merry looked out from under the edge of the cloak. All he could see was running feet, clod in armored boots.

"Pip, I'm going to make a run for it," Merry breathed. "Stay here and maybe you can escape!"

"No, Merry! Stop!" Pippin whispered fiercely as Merry jumped up.

"Hey, hey you! Big stupid orc! Yeah! Follow me!" Merry turned and sprinted for his life.

"Merry!" Pippin stayed for a second, then jumped up and followed his cousin.

-----

Aragorn watched as a group of Uruks broke off and started running in a tangential direction. To his horror, Aragorn saw the two small hobbits in front, running away, stooping to pick up stones and throwing them at their pursuers. The hobbits had good aim; each stone met its mark, but the Uruks gained every second. Aragorn forced his way towards the running hobbits.

-----

"What are you doing, Mr. Faramir, Sir?" Sam was shaking slightly beside the Elven boat while he whispered to the Ranger.

"The orcs are coming this way, Sam. I need you to hide in this boat. Don't come out; don't say anything; don't even move. No matter what!"

"Mr. Faramir--"

"No, Sam. Stay in the boat. Hide under your cloak and hopefully they won't notice you." Faramir leapt from his hiding spot, sword blazing in the sunlight. The orcs turned from their scavenging to face their fiery foe.

-----

Legolas and Gimli noticed the little Shire-lings just as they were reached by the Uruk-hai. "No!" shouted Gimli, making a wide sweep of his axe. Throwing the orcs off left and right, the sturdy dwarf forged a path through the sweat and the heat. With Legolas thinning the minions in front of him, Gimli could pick off the rest with relative ease. Finally they made their way to Aragorn.

"Gimli," shouted Legolas, "I've run out of arrows!"

"Can't you find more?"

"Not too easy," Legolas whipped out his twin knives. "Not when you're surrounded!"

-----

The first two orcs were sliced in two before they could draw their cruel scimitars; Faramir turned to the remaining five. The one in the middle, obviously the leader of the small group, raised his scythe for a mighty killing blow. It never landed, for the Southern Ranger knocked the blade away and swiped the Uruk's legs out from under him. In the same movement, he sent the leader's head flying into the woods. The other four turned and ran. Faramir grabbed his bow from behind the stump and shot arrows at each one. Each arrow found its mark as the orcs crumpled to the ground.

Faramir turned to see if Sam was still in one piece. He was amazed to see the boat push itself away from the beach and begin to paddle itself quietly across the river.

-----

Aragorn was detained by yet another group of over-zealous orcs. Even with Legolas and Gimli fighting alongside, these orcs were overwhelming. The stench of death permeated their clothing, their own blood mixing with the enemies'. He could no longer see Pippin's or Merry's captors, but the group of orcs that surrounded them was quickly pulling away. Aragorn fought the urge to rush after them.

"What are you waiting for?" shouted Gimli. "Let's be after them!"

"We must go back to Frodo!" replied Aragorn as he wearily ran down the hill towards the riverbank.

"We can't just leave them!" said Legolas. "They'll be killed for sure!"

"It seems every choice I've made has gone amiss," mused Aragorn, "but I feel our first duty must be the Ring-bearer."

"I am sorry, Aragorn," Legolas apologized. "I will follow the king."

-----

Faramir gawked in amazement, but then remembered that one of the powers of the One Ring was to make its wearer invisible. He rushed to one of the other boats and began to paddle it across the River, following the first. They reached the opposite shore at about the same time.

"Frodo, show yourself," commanded Faramir.

Frodo slipped off the Ring and glared at Faramir. "What do you want with me? The Ring is mine! It's MY task! Mine alone! Why did you follow after me?"

"Frodo, remember what I said at the Council?" Faramir looked down upon the defiant hobbit. "I promised to follow you to the end. I also promised that I would not take the Ring, not if all Gondor was burning and I alone could save her. Besides, my small Master, you wouldn't have gotten away. Here is Sam!" The Ranger picked up the bundle of clothes from the boat and set it on the ground. Sam sat up and looked around.

"Lor' bless me, if I haven't been dreaming!" exclaimed the gardener. "I thought the paddle picked itself up and started to move the boat off the shore all by itself! I was going to shout out, but I remembered what you told me, Mr. Faramir, and stayed still."

"No, dear Sam," said Frodo, calm once more. "That was I in the boat. I just had the Ring on, that's all."

"Mr. Frodo, sir, you sure know how to scare a body," retorted Sam.

"_I_ know how? Sam, I was trying to get off to Mordor by myself, but it appears I must drag along two others with me, as we can't very well go back." Frodo glanced over at the other shore and the ensuing battle of which he could just catch glimpses of.

"Mr. Frodo, we always meant to go along with you. You can't get rid of us by a simple disappearing act," Sam said shortly.

Frodo laughed for the first time. "No, Sam. I'm glad you two are with me. We'd best be off, though, or those horrible orcs will come back and follow us. I don't suppose we'll ever see them again--Aragorn and Legolas and the others, I mean."

Faramir smiled. "We may yet, Frodo Baggins. We may yet."

-----

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli arrived at the edge of the water just in time to catch a glimpse of the trio disappearing into the woods on the other side of the River. Legolas ran to the third boat and began shoving off. "If we hurry, we can still reach them in time!" he shouted to the others.

"No, my friend," replied Aragorn. "The Ring is safe and in good hands. We must follow our other companions; we cannot leave Merry and Pippin to torment and death! Leave all that can be spared behind."

"Let's hunt some orc!" shouted the dwarf as the three friends ran off into the forest.

-----

**A/N: **Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, etc. all pursue the same paths from this point onward as they do in the original _The Lord of the Rings_. For this, I shan't be following them in this story anymore. I apologize for not getting this out sooner… I was plagued by that great evil known as homework. The work of Sauron himself! Thank you for bearing with me. And thanks again to Dally for being my wonderful and willing beta!

--Valgorúth

P.S. REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	4. Emyn Muil: Dagger's Edge

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still not mine. I still don't get paid for them. I can't call them out from their glorious pages… still… looks wistfully at pile of LotR books. If only if only…. Also, none of these songs or rhymes is mine. I leave the great rhymes to Bilbo.

**A/N:** I realize that Faramir is a Ranger from Gondor. However, that does not imply that he has ever seen the Northern Marshes or Emyn Muil. Keep that in mind. Also, due to popular request, I have added some flashbacks, introduced with .-.-. Try not to get lost along the way! And now I introduce you to

Emyn Muil: Dagger's Edge

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"Mr. Frodo, sir," Sam panted. "Have a little something to eat. It might be a long time 'til we get to stop again."

"No thanks, Sam, I'm not hungry." Frodo looked back up the path that they had come. He whispered to the other two, "I think we're being followed."

Faramir glanced up the path. "It's Gollum," he whispered back. "Don't let on that you realize he's there." Out loud he said, "Frodo, you really ought to have some _lembas_. As you recall, it's made especially for travelers when they need it most."

"I only wish it had a better taste." Frodo reached for the pack of food. "Back home, we would put something on it to make it taste good. A bit of jelly, perhaps."

"Jelly?" Faramir laughed out loud for a moment. "Maybe some strawberry jam would do it some good, but what it really needs is a nice glass of wine. The elves always made the best wines." Faramir thought back to that distant day that he first met his king.

.-.-.

"You will join us at the feast tonight, fair Ranger, will you not?" The Half-Elven addressed Faramir in the old Gondorian tongue.

"Ah, yes, I shall," Faramir started at the old language. "I haven't heard anyone use the Ancient Westron speech since my father taught it to my brother and me. Where did you learn to speak with such grace, my lord Elrond?"

"My daughter, Arwen, knows a man from your region," answered Elrond. "You could say that they have learned a great deal from each other. I will allow him to introduce himself. He shall be at the feast, yet if you pass through to either the Great Hall or the Tapestry Hall, you may see him prior to our feasting. He spends some of his time in such rooms. I will expect to see you at the feast. If you go back on your word, Faramir, son of Denethor, I shall send word to Gondor that you are a faithless man and scorn the table full of food! You must be there." Elrond chuckled.

"With a threat like that, milord, how can I refuse?" Faramir bowed to Elrond and took his leave.

"Watch where you're going, you bumbling oaf!" Faramir looked behind him to see what appeared to be a small man with a beard down to his waist. "My axe has been restless tonight! Beware, or I may calm it upon your neck!"

"I'm sorry, my good sir," answered Faramir. "I did not see you. In truth, I have never seen any man of your—"

"Man? MAN? I am no Man! I am a Dwarf, thank you very much!" The Dwarf looked quite insulted indeed. "I am Gimli, son of Gloin. And who are _you_ to be taking up so much space in my hallway?"

"I apologize, my dear dwarf. I am Faramir, son of Denethor. I have read of your race in the old history books, but our father said your people were naught but fairy tales. Until now, I had believed him."

"Do you know nothing of the greatness of the Dwarfs?" Gimli looked up at Faramir. "Well, let me tell you! I have a few hours to spend with such a willing companion such as yourself!"

Faramir backed away nervously. "Well, I really out to get going—"

"Nonsense!" Gimli put his short arm around Faramir's waist and with surprising force pulled him along. "It all began when the Elves decided to make a much better race than their own.…"

-----

"If my calculations are correct, we should be in the foothills of Emyn Muil." Faramir walked along slowly so Frodo could set the pace. "Emyn Muil is a range of mountains extending from Amon Hen until the Dead Marshes. We'll have to find a way around the Marshes, obviously. That will lead us north through some uncharted grounds, and then back south to the Black Gate."

Frodo sighed. "At least the names are friendly," he said. "How come everything has to do with death and gloom around here? Even the name of Mordor means dark land!"

"Under the shadow of the Enemy," Faramir answered, "no light can prosper. The Great Eye is a darkness that even light cannot escape. All those who meet his gaze are drawn towards it into an everlasting void…" his voice trailed off. "But let us speak of happier things while we still can. Have you heard of the tale of the Númenoreans?"

"Of course we have, Mr. Faramir, sir," retorted Sam. "History is taught even in the Shire! Even though no one likes to learn it. Boring stuff!"

"Oh no, Sam." Faramir looked kindly at the small Hobbit. "The history of the land of Númenor is something very special indeed. The Valar granted the Númenoreans a special gift: our senses were greater than that of all other men. We are taller, we live longer, we see better, and we hear much better than ordinary men. A long time ago, our senses were even greater than they are now. The Elves gave us an island in the shape of a star and told us that as long as we stayed in sight of that island, we could sail wherever we wished.

"Soon, however, the kings of the Númenoreans decided that they would rather follow their own wishes instead of the Valar's. They sailed into the West as far as they could, hoping to find the Undying Lands of Valinor. Instead of finding Valinor, they found destruction. The Valar sent a huge wave of water to drown the Land of the Star in our own greed and pride. But the story doesn't end here. There was a remnant of people who still held to the old teachings. The Valar set apart the land of Gondor for the remnant and appointed leaders. This line can be traced all the way to Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"Strider's a leader of Gondor?" Sam questioned the Ranger with wide eyes.

"Not only that, but he is heir to the king's throne in Minas Tirith." A light shone in Faramir's eyes. "A king again! Gondor shall have their king! I only wish I could be there to see him crowned and set on the throne."

.-.-.

His head spinning with Dwarven history, Faramir hurried toward the great hall. He wanted to get there early so he could see this stranger from Gondor. Along the way, he accidentally bumped into a tall elf.

"Excuse me…" Faramir turned to apologize to the elf and stopped still. "You aren't a half-elf!"

"No, my friend." The elf bowed with elegant grace. "I am Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood! Isn't that the land of the giant spiders?"

"Ever since the wizard Mithrandir visited our forest, the spiders have not been seen. But come, let us talk of happier things."

"I am sorry, my good elf, but I must hurry to the hall. I am hoping to meet someone from the land of Gondor there."

"Do you know his name?" Legolas asked. "I may be able to help you."

"Actually, no. Elrond did not mention his name," said Faramir.

A strange twinkle came into the elf's eyes. "I may know who you are looking for. He is currently occupied, however. Maybe you shall see him during the feast, but I expect he shall be late rather than early. There is someone else that I think you should meet. I expect he would be in the Hall of Fire."

"Who would that be?" Faramir looked puzzled at the elf.

"I think I shall allow you to see him for yourself instead of attempting to describe him. Here we are at the hall. He should be in the shadows away from the fire."

"Thank you, dear friend." Faramir bowed again. "I hope we shall meet again before I leave."

Faramir made his way toward the small figure in the shadows. He heard a slight muttering sound as if an old man were talking to himself. He soon realized that it was the sound of poetry being recited quietly.

_And over Middle-earth he passed_

_and heard at last the weeping sore_

_of women and of elven-maids_

_in Elder Days, in years of yore._

"Ah, maids and passed doesn't rhyme, you fool. No, wait… let me check my rhyme scheme… hills, fall, light, Wall…. No, you old Baggins, of course it needn't rhyme!"

"Hello?" asked Faramir softly. "I was told I could meet someone here."

"Why, hullo! And who might you be, young man?"

"My name is Faramir, and I am a captain of Gondor," answered Faramir.

The shape stood up and came towards the captain. Faramir was amazed that although he was obviously over eighty years old, this wizened creature stood only about waist-high. He was also barefoot and the tops of his feet were covered in short, curly hair.

"I am Bilbo Baggins, and I write poetry," replied the Hobbit.

"Yes, I heard. You're very good!" Faramir didn't know what to say. He had never seen a Hobbit before.

"Oh, posh. It's nothing," Bilbo said modestly. "Anyways, I didn't do it all. Dúnadan helped me with most of it."

"Dúnadan?" Faramir asked. "Who's that?"

"Oh, you should meet him. He'll probably be at the feast. Now, if you excuse me, this poem must be finished tonight," Bilbo chuckled.

-----

"Faramir, um, where are we going?" Frodo asked hesitantly. "I think we've been here before…"

"I think you're right." Faramir looked around. "I admit it; I'm not familiar with this land. I have never been in Emyn Muil before. I've never been north of the crossroads. This is technically land that belongs to Gondor, but it is exceedingly dangerous as the Enemy sends his most fearsome spies out here often. Also, the paths of Emyn Muil are like a maze. You finally find a path only to be led to a dead end."

A loud growl erupted from just behind them. Faramir spun around, his hand on his hilt, just to see a sheepish looking Sam.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Faramir," shrugged Sam. "I tried to stop it."

"It's all right, Sam." Faramir laughed at his own edginess. "I guess we can stop to make camp. I am completely lost." Faramir looked around. They were on the edge of a cliff, but the bottom was obscured by fog. "I think our problem is we're following the cliffs around in a circle. With a little hard work, we should be able to follow this valley—" he pointed down the cliff's steep side "—on toward the East, which by guessing the sun's general position should be.…" He looked back the way they came. "It should be in _that_ direction."

Frodo looked up at Faramir. "How do you suppose we get into this valley? I didn't bring any rope along."

"Mr. Frodo, you've heard my motto a hundred times, beggin' your pardon." Sam reached into his pack and brought out a tightly coiled bundle of what looked like twine. "Never travel without a rope, for you'll never know when one might come in handy."

"That's hardly a coil of rope, Sam," Frodo said kindly. "I don't think that could hold me, let alone Faramir and you."

Sam looked hurt. "Mr. Frodo, if there's one thing I know, other than gardening, it's rope. This is some of that dandy Elvish rope from Lothlórien! I daresay it could hold up an oliphaunt!" Sam reached down and tied the rope expertly to a jut of rock. "There. That's not likely to go anywhere for a while."

Frodo and Faramir looked at each other. "I would trust Samwise, Master Baggins," Faramir said to Frodo.

Frodo sighed and started fingering the Ring around his neck. "Something tells me we should stay here, but if you wish me to go, I'll follow."

Sam immediately took charge. "Mr. Faramir, since you're the biggest, you should go first, then myself, and then Mr. Frodo at last. That way if one of us falls, he won't take everyone else down with him, and us smaller folk might be caught by Mr. Faramir."

"Just try not to fall, Sam," Faramir's voice was laughing, but his warning was serious. "I wouldn't want to try to catch _you_!"

The trio inched their way down the edge of the cliff. Faramir glanced down at the fog swirling around them. Who knew how far down the cliff went, or if the rope even reached all the way? He turned his attention back to the rope supporting him. What if it broke? The rope couldn't be even a quarter of a finger thick! The last time he climbed down a mountainside, he had used some stout Gondorian rope at least two fingers thick. Granted, it was impossible to pack and it seemed almost wasted when he had to leave it behind.

Leave it behind? They would have to leave this precious rope behind for someone else to follow them?

All of a sudden, he heard a shout from Sam. "Catch it, Mr. Faramir!" Faramir saw a small box tumble out of Sam's pack towards him. He reached out with his left hand to catch it, but in doing so, lost his grip on the rope. Down he slid, grabbing at the rocks to slow him in his descent to inevitable death.

_Thud._ Faramir landed on his feet only about five feet from where he began to slide. He looked in his hand and saw that he had miraculously caught and held on to the ornately carved box. He looked up to Frodo and Sam, who were staring down in horror. Realizing that they couldn't see him through the fog, he called up, "I think I've found the bottom." He heard the harmonic sighs of the two Hobbits as they resumed their careful descent. When Sam reached the bottom, Faramir handed the box back to its rightful owner. "I think you dropped something."

"Thank you for catching it, Mr. Faramir." Sam placed it back in his pack, wrapping it in an extra shirt and taking care that it would never fall out again.

"If you don't mind, would you tell me what was in that box?" Faramir wasn't upset that he had risked his life for a tiny box, but he was curious to see what was so precious about it that Sam would wrap it up so carefully.

"It's my present from the Lady Galadriel," Sam answered. "She gave me some enchanted soil to place in the Shire. I don't know if I'll ever use it, but I'll cherish it forever."

"Then it was for a worthy cause that I nearly met my doom." Faramir kept a straight face. "It would be an honor to die for a speck of precious Elvish dirt."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Faramir. I didn't know you were going to fall, or I wouldn't have asked you to catch it!" Sam's lower lip started to quiver as he thought about what might have happened.

Frodo, who had just arrived at the bottom, said, "Cheer up, Sam. He's joking with you. All the Gondorians are great kidders." With a wink at his gardener, he turned and started to walk down the valley floor.

"Just a moment, Master Baggins." Faramir called to Frodo. "What are we to do with this rope? We can't just leave it there for Gollum to crawl down."

Sam looked at Faramir in horror. "I never thought of that! It's all my fault! Now Gollum will catch us for sure! And on top of that, all of the Enemy's servants know where we are!"

Faramir turned to Sam. "It's not all your fault, Samwise. I should have thought of it too, but when I did think, it was too late. Besides, we're better off in this trench than we would be on the cliff."

Frodo walked over to the rope with Sam following closely behind. "What ought we to do?" he asked.

Sam replied, "Well, there's nothing for it. One of my knots. Won't come undone too easily. Shame, though, wasting that fine Elvish rope." Sam gave a farewell tug on the rope. Suddenly it unraveled itself from its knot and started to fall from its perch.

Frodo looked at Sam in anger. "To think we trusted ourselves to that rope of yours! It could have unraveled while we were yet up there!"

"By my Gaffer, that knot was tied perfectly!" Sam looked astonished at the rope.

Faramir came up behind them and inspected the rope. "Real Elvish rope?" He took the perfectly wound ends in his hands. "This rope wasn't cut, nor did it start to yield due to stress. The rope seemed to fall when Sam tugged at it. Seemingly, the tug was a call to the rope, and it obeyed. It's another example of the 'Magic' of the Elves."

Sam quietly retrieved the treasured rope and wound it back up into a tight loop. He carefully placed it in his pack next to the box of soil.

Faramir turned to Frodo and said, "I think we should stop here. If Gollum is to follow us, he will come down the cliff at this point." He pointed towards the edge of the cliff. "It would be easy to travel down the edge there, and go straight down. When Gollum followed us in Moria, I noticed that he would walk on his toes, like a fly or a toad. He could travel straight down walls like that. He will try to follow us. We can stay here, set up camp, and capture him. We do not have to walk in fear of him."

Frodo pondered the gravity of this choice. "I agree we must find a way to detain him," he said, "but do not hurt him. Maybe we can find some use in him."

.-.-.

Left to himself, Faramir wandered through the great halls of Elrond's manor. He sometimes wondered whether he were still indoors as he walked through the open halls. Some of the archways were made naturally of ash trees spreading their branches across the path. Slender birch trees mingled with great oaks, forming beautiful and ornate, yet mystically natural halls through the most breathtaking manor in Middle-Earth.

Faramir entered a dim doorway into a grand hall. It appeared to be a museum of some kind, relics displayed across the great room. On every wall, elaborate tapestries of various scenes from the long Elvish history seemed to come alive. There was only one tapestry that caught Faramir's attention, however. A man donned with grand armor was fighting face to face with a dark and tall figure that appeared to be one of the Maiar. On the second finger oh the dark hand was a golden ring, words of fire burned into the side. "Sauron," Faramir whispered.

"It is the Fall of Elendil."

Faramir whirled around to face the stranger who had sneaked up behind him. The man was tall and beautifully dressed. He was obviously not an elf, yet he seemed to have the depth in his eyes that elves possess. His hands were calloused, yet smooth, as if age had come and left no effect on him. His face was newly shaven and shone with a perpetual youth, yet he could tell this man was wise beyond the thirty years of age he appeared to be.

"Sauron's Defeat is the only tapestry the Rivendell Elves have woven for Men. It was given to Isildur, Elendil's heir, and so passed on to his son. It is said when Arathorn and his wife Gilrain entered Rivendell to seek safety from those which hunt Isildur's heirs, they gave this tapestry back to Elrond as a token of love, honor, and gratitude for many years of hard work."

"Are you he whom I was to meet?" Faramir felt a sense of obeisance to this knowledgeable man, yet he knew not why.

The stranger chuckled and said, "I may be, and yet I may not be. Describe this man to me."

"All I know is that I was to meet a Man from my own homeland who knew the Elven Lord's daughter."

The stranger smiled and said, "You need search no longer. I can tell from your speech that you are a Gondorian. I, too, am from Gondor, yet have not seen the White Tower for many years."

"What is your name, milord? I have not heard of any Gondorians posted this far West."

"I am Aran and Estel. I walk on the wind and hide in the shadows. I have traveled near and far, and have fought many wars. I long to stay in one place, yet my feet are restless even tonight. I follow my duty and give duty to others. I am the Dúnadan." The stranger appeared to rise in height and grandeur as he proclaimed his title. He did not say it in a haughty manner, but rather modestly, making the proclamation all the greater. It was as if he did not wish to say his name, yet did so as if being forced. "You may call me Strider."

-----

**A/N:** Please read and review! This story is only going to get better, but without your help and feedback, I don't know whether I should continue! Do you have any ideas or suggestions? What about seeing a flashback or maybe what happens to the others? I have some ideas already, but I would like some input from the other fans of Tolkien. PM me or write a review giving a few suggestions! Once again, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta, Dalamar Argent. I'm serious; she is awesome, so go check out some of her stories, too!

--Valgorúth & JBRam


	5. Emyn Muil: Struggle in the Dark

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of the Lord of the Rings movies, although I might take scenes or quotes from either.

**A/N:** That was a fun chapter wasn't it? Sorry for the long wait. Once again, flashbacks will be represented by ".-.-." Get ready for…

**Emyn Muil: Struggle in the Dark**

-----

Night fell over the dark mountains. Frodo shivered as the clouds crept over the moon. The last time he saw the Great Hunter in the sky was on the River Anduin. No stars greeted him tonight again. He sighed and turned back towards Sam, who was seemingly asleep.

They were all supposed to pretend to be asleep, but Frodo couldn't stay still. The Ring burdened his mind. Almost reluctantly, he withdrew the Circle from his _mithril_ coat. He didn't know why, but it seemed that by fingering the Ring, he could feel more fulfilled for a short time, but it always made him feel guilty and empty when he put it back in his shirt again.

_Ash nazg durbatulûk…._

Startled, Frodo shoved the ring back to its place. He swore he heard whispering… but no. It was impossible. He was about to draw it back out again when he heard a snarl from directly above on the cliff's edge.

_There they are, my precious._

The whispers were different, yet now Frodo knew the cause of them.

_Yes, there they are. Asleep, so soft and comfy, yes, precious! They have a tall one with them, but he should be easy! Yes, precious, we've taken care of tall ones before, haven't we? Creep up so soft and clutch his throat, yes, precious! The hobbitses won't hear a thing, of course, no._

Frodo felt Faramir stir behind him slightly. He was obviously reaching for his blade, making sure that this thing would know he meant business when the fight began. Frodo whispered as soft as he could, "No. Not until it's necessary."

_Yes, we must take care of them swiftly. They stoled it from us, my precious! It's ours, it is, and we wants it! Yes, we must haves it! Our precious-s-s…._

.-.-.

"You have been summoned here today as we determine the fate of Middle-Earth." Elrond raised an eyebrow as he looked at the members of the Council. "I say 'summoned,' although few of you have been called, except by fate. A peril that only Gandalf can fathom has reached the West. Frodo, bring forth the Ring."

Frodo stood up and walked hesitantly towards the center of the Council. A small star-shaped platform awaited him. It was more than shyness that held him back, yet he could not figure out why he was so hesitant. Slowly, he brought his hand forward to his chest pocket and pulled out the Ring. Was it whispering something to him?

"Frodo!"

Frodo turned to see Gandalf's eyes bristling. He walked quickly over to the platform and set down the Ring. He stood next to the platform for a second, but turned and walked back to his seat. When he sat down, he suddenly felt a wave of relief wash over him.

The Council murmured amongst itself. "What is this?" "A ring? I came this far for a ring?"

There were only three people who were silent. Strider and Elrond sat back in their chairs while a third man stared at the Ring intently. Gandalf rose to his feet.

"This is not just any Ring," he said. "This is the Bane of Isildur, the Ring of Sauron. All of you here already know what that means. But none truly understand the Absolute Power of this seemingly trivial piece of gold. This Thing _must_ be destroyed."

The previously silent Man murmured, "This is it…"

Gandalf looked at him questioningly. "What did you say, Faramir? Come, speak your mind."

-----

_It's ours, it is…_

Gollum crept closer towards them down the sheer side of the rock wall. He took a glance over the three shapes huddled together. He watched the tall one move ever so slightly, and knew he was waiting for him.

_Tricksy it is, my precious, oh so tricksy. Ready he thinks he is. We will see…_

Gollum found a loose stone about the size of a fish. He made sure none of the sleeping shapes were watching. _We hates cruel Men. They hurt us._ He tensed his muscles and let the rock fly as hard as he could. The blow was enough to keep the tall one out of the battle to come.

-----

Frodo heard a sickening sound. He jerked upright against his own will and turned to see blood streaming down Faramir's face. He was about to shake Faramir when suddenly he was attacked from above. Gollum had jumped from his perch and got a stranglehold on his neck.

"Sam…" Frodo squeaked. He grabbed at the long fingers around his neck. For a second he got them loose. "Sam!" he shouted.

Instantly, his gardener was awake. Sam looked to see a strange frog-like creature on his master's back. He threw a punch at the side of the creature's head. Gollum yelped as he dropped his hold on Frodo's neck. Frodo collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, as Gollum turned to face his new adversary.

"You leave Mr. Frodo alone!" Sam yelled. He jumped at Gollum and began punching him left and right. Gollum threw him off with surprising ease. He had noticed a glint of yellow metal on Frodo's chain.

Frodo looked at Gollum, then looked down. The Ring had slipped out of its hidden place under his cloak when he fell. He tried to tuck it into his shirt, but Gollum was upon him, groping for the precious Ring. A new fire kindled in Frodo's mind. _He won't get my Ring! _Frodo thought. He kicked Gollum back. For a second, the two looked almost the same. Frodo's eyes had taken on a pale blue light, not unlike the green light of Gollum's. Then Gollum leapt at Frodo, pinning him to the ground.

-----

Sam shook his head to clear his mind. When he was thrown off, he hit his head on a rock, and for a minute, he couldn't even see straight. When he looked again, he saw Gollum on top of Frodo, grabbing for the Ring around his throat. Sam rushed at Gollum, toppling him over. The two rolled around on the ground until Sam felt the long frog-like fingers grasping at his neck.

Frodo unsheathed his sword and ran over to Gollum. Holding Sting over his adversary, he shouted, "Unhand him, or I'll slit your throat!"

The fingers slowly released their grip on Sam's neck. He knew when he was beat. Sam got up quickly and turned to face Gollum. All of a sudden, the creature twisted his face into a pitiful shape and let out a cry.

"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked his friend over the din. Seeing him nod, Sam grabbed the rope from his pack and wound it around the creature's hands and feet. "Let's see him get away from that," he said as he tied the knot.

Gollum's cry immediately turned into a screech of pain.

"What's wrong?" Frodo shouted to Sam.

"I don't know! It isn't _that_ tight!" replied Sam. Disgusted, he turned away from the frog-like creature to tend to Faramir. The cut on his head was deep, but it wasn't too deep for Hobbit medicine. Sam expertly bandaged Faramir's head, and then began to boil some of the _athelas_ leaves the _lembas_ bread was wrapped in.

"Don't use too much water, Sam! We might not get any more for a while," Frodo reminded him. He turned to study this creature. Having only heard stories, and only seeing him from afar, Frodo was curious to see what he looked like. The most striking features were his abnormally large hands, feet, and eyes. The eyes, when open, glowed with a bright green light that intermittently flickered to a paler green. He wore nothing but a loincloth that was torn and tattered, as if it had seen many years of wear. His skin was ghastly pale, as if he hadn't seen the light of day for a hundred years. But worst of all was his screeching.

-----

Gollum looked back at his captor. His wrists and ankles burned from the rope. They hurt more than the orcses' ropes. He tried to stop crying because it appeared that they would kill him if he didn't be quiet. He calmed his cries to quiet whimpers. Then, suddenly, a stench filled the air. He turned on his side and retched on the ground. The odor of ground _athelas_ filled his nostrils. Once again he began to screech.

-----

Frodo sniffed the soothing smell of the _athelas_ leaves. Gollum had quieted for a second, but he was back to his cries of pain. Sam held the bowl to Faramir's face. He immediately woke up.

"Brother? What's wrong?" he shouted, instinctively reaching for his sword. Looking around, he saw that his brother was nowhere near, but the cries were coming from the strange creature that was tied up. He put a hand to his head. The cries were not helping his headache.

"Are you all right, Mr. Faramir?" asked Sam.

"I will be if that Gollum would quiet down," Faramir replied. "He will wake all of the Dark Land with his cries!" Faramir got up from the ground and walked over to the creature. Drawing his sword, he pointed it at Gollum. "Let's make a deal," he said. "As long as you are quiet, I will let you live."

Gollum gulped and closed his mouth. Satisfied, Faramir sat back down.

-.-.-

Faramir reluctantly stood up. He looked around at the Council before him. _My brother is much better at this than I._ "About three months ago, our city of Osgiliath was attacked suddenly. My brother and I, fighting in the same company, guarded the only standing bridge between the two banks of the city. Suddenly, we were overtaken by a presence I had never felt before. I saw a black horseman like a great dark shadow that obscured the moon. Wherever he went, a great fear engulfed our allies. All our men fled back to the West Bank of the Anduin. The only people left on the Eastern bank were my brother and my company. Out of fear, our allies destroyed the bridge behind us, so that we could not get across. Our company was forced to swim across. Only four men made it across the river: my brother, myself, and two others. The rest were either shot by the Enemy or by our own men.

"The night of that great onslaught, I had a dream. In my dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark, and a great noise like thunder filled my ears. Yet in the West, a pale light lingered, and I heard a clear voice crying over a great distance:

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken_

_And the Halfing forth shall stand._

"Until now, I never quite understood the meaning of these words, but I could never forget them. I heard them many, many times in my dreams, for this dream occurred almost nightly for a month. At the end of this month, I shared the dream with my father, the Steward of Gondor. He said it was a sign. We are to go to Imladris, find the Bane of Isildur, and bring it back to Gondor to use against our Enemy. I disagreed with him, so my father was about to send my brother.

"Before he could leave, Osgiliath was attacked again, but we drove back the Enemy and re-conquered the Western Bank. My brother was wounded in the attack, and I was forced to go on this errand. I now understand more clearly what I must do."

Strider stood to his feet. "And here in Imladris, more shall be made clear to you." He took the Sword from the bundle he kept under his chair and cast it upon the platform. "Behold the Sword of Imladris that was Broken and shall be made whole again!"

"And what have _you_ to do with Minas Tirith?" asked one of the dwarves, introduced before as Glóin.

"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," cried Elrond. "He is of direct lineage of the Isildur of whom we speak, and heir to the throne of Gondor."

Faramir walked towards Aragorn and knelt on the ground. "Then I owe you my allegiance, my King."

"Rise, Faramir, son of Denethor," Aragorn said. "Now is neither the time nor the place."

-----

**A/N: **Please, if you like this story, you need to review! I can't keep going without support. Well, that's pretty much a bluff, but I'd like some reviews. If you write me, I may use your ideas in my story! I'm quite open to any ideas you have, so PLEASE review with your comments, questions, and ideas.

Thanks again to Dalamar for her wonderful beta-ing work. What would I do without you to check my stuff over and over again? Probably rejoice, because I wouldn't have to change anything! Or I would "perish without her rapier-wit to amuse me whenever she wrote back!"


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